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RPlog:The Weak Point
The entryway to the Plaxton Grand screams elegance and classic style. The floors are comprised of hard Casparian marble of an off-white hue. The furnishings in the lobby are made of antique wood, with occasional accoutremonts signifying high technology. Several seating areas with comfortable couches and low tables contain comms units for guest use. Near the right wall is a generous reception desk staffed round the chronometer with pleasant hotel staff. Here and there silver protocol droids move through the sparse crowd, attending to guest needs. A wide half story staircase leads up to the suites proper. Loosely connected memories floated in Orson's mind. Hunched over the quiet polishing motor and in a fairly deep meditation, the mechanic ground on the second of two crystals that would be required for his complete lightsaber plan. The Force flowed into his arms, down into his fingers, and helped shape the crystal even as it shaped thoughts in his mind. The salesperson wanted to know what he was going to do with it, the heavy motor and the polishing gear. It was an odd configuration, to be sure, and was an equal mix of industrial power and jeweler's precision. "Cutting sockets for a new type of crystal data array," Orson said, flat out lying. He had wondered, lugging the box as he left the shop, about his identity. More change was on the horizon, he knew, even if he was still afraid to face the awful truth behind the power of seeing through time. "Jessalyn?" Orson asked, attention riveted on the device in the kitchenette of their latest suite. He had felt her stir nearby. Bearing a tray in her arms, Jessalyn returned from the main room of the suite, setting her burden down on a small table nearby, and bringing Orson a tall glass of something cold and sweet. "Time for a break?" she asked with a smile, casting a glance at his work and at the newly purchased equipment that would help him complete the lightsaber at last. It was something of an unspoken agreement between them: that even though Skywalker had requested Orson not be trained yet in the art of Jedi combat, she was still allowing him to continue work on the lightsaber that had been his lodestar from the beginning. Her free hand rested on his shoulder as she offered the glass. "It's progressing nicely." "I think so," Orson said as he flicked the switch that would slow the motor and turn it off. "I don't want to rush this part. The first crystal felt so right. I don't know if this one is ready to be revealed." Indeed, there wasn't much of the rough gem in faceted form yet, just a few basic cuts. While the stone's thickness lended it a slightly amber quality, the color was a soothing gray-green. It reminded him of the little flecks that floated in Jessalyn's eyes, but more than that, was a marker of this point in time. Of their relationship. Of the learning. Of the bond that, even then, was growing. He hoped it would remind him of her and her blade, but hadn't shared that with her. Orson wasn't sure she would approve. It would be a /weapon/, after all. Jessalyn's acute eyes took in the rough cut gem, admiring the color and the clarity of the crystal as a million thoughts of her own regarding the significance of Orson's lightsaber raced through her mind. Slowly a little smile curved upon her lips. "Perhaps it's not ready," she agreed, taking a sip from the glass in her hand, and then setting it near him so he would have easy access. Both her hands slid to his neck, massaging the taut muscles there as she moved to stand behind Orson. "I can tell you're excited. But sometimes you have to patient, hmm?" Orson released the gem and its dop from his hand, and set it beside the wheel. He spun around and took her hands, giving her a tired smile and hanging on to those slender fingers. "I think you're right," Orson admitted. His mind had been lost in the Force for hours. That, and a combination of basic exhaustion and the stress of the last few days had put him in an odd mental state. __________ "Orson!" Marina yelled, stomping into the room and clutching a pair of fancy overnight bags. "I'm taking the baby and going to mother's. If you can't pay me the simple respect of..." How many of her sentences had started like that, Orson wondered from his spot on the floor. His wife hadn't even noticed Jessalyn standing there. Marina was different, fiercely beautiful, cold and typical. Jessalyn was soft, kind. Easy to cut, but infinitely deep. The tiny woman with the jet black hair stomped past Jessalyn and headed for the closet, yanking garments off their hangers. Orson was a cheater. She had caught him, but said nothing. Slim hands grasped Orson's as Jessalyn gazed into his eyes, the expression in her own unmistakable, full of her contentment and love. She was strong and enduring, and even though so little time had passed since she had discovered Orson, there were whispers of something more, of a potential for happiness stretching out as far as she could See, from the beginning. As Marina passed through the room, Jessalyn seemed oblivious. Or was she? She shook her head slowly, fingers pressing his. "She can't hurt you anymore." Her perfect lips seemed to move in slow motion when she spoke. Like a tension in the man, some tightening of a thought muscle made Orson's brow look like it wanted to crease. He turned a dumb look to Jessalyn and then back to the closet that Marina had moved into. There she was, still jerking things around. Then, she shifted out of view of the seated mechanic, and the closet fell quiet. And dark, as the light flicked off. "I'm not so sure," Orson said, keeping his voice low. Even lower: "She's really mean." __________ Procedural Manual for Auxiliary Pneumatic Units By Orson Tighe Introduction: I'd like to welcome you to the world of auxiliary pneumatic unit maintenance. I hope that even more skilled transport mechanics would find something useful in this text, though it is written to have an appeal at a broader level. This little file should find a permanent place onboard most any ship captain's datapad who works on their own vessel. I think the step-by-step explanations you'll see here, along with the flow schematics and diagrams will help you keep your pneumatic units in better shape than ever. Check out the reference guide for a list of cross-referenced replaceable parts. If you get stuck, give Tighe Standard Corp. a contact. We'll be glad to help whenever we can. I'd like to thank my wife Marina for her support during this work. Best wishes! __________ A bunch of lies, Orson considered. Time sped up suddenly, and it left his head whirling. He reached for the glass, hand covering a huge distance to wrap fingers around it. "Jessalyn," he started. "I'm afraid of you." Taking a large swallow, he gasped at the shock of coolness that zagged down his throat. "Loving you, really. And not just because of..." His mind flashed again, and he squinted his eyes to hold back the flood. "But because of the unique qualities of our relationship." His eyes sought hers, asking the question: do you understand? Her back remained turned to the closet the entire time, even as Jessalyn was vividly aware of the ghostly Marina there. There was a hurt in her expression now, though, that wasn't there before. "I do," she said at length. "Sometimes it scares me, too. But...." Her soft voice trailed off, afraid of saying or revealing too much if Orson had already come to some sort of decision. Finding a chair, she pulled it closer so that she could sink into the cushion, suddenly unable to stand. She leaned on her knees, towards him, her face solemn but intense. "Orson, what are you trying to say?" Orson wasn't a bad sabacc player. Not good enough to make a living at it, but good enough to keep from losing his paycheck. He didn't need that sort of thrill in his life, not really, and kept in good shape only to be able to join in the games that seemed to come along with his line of work. So his face was fairly tight, neutral, dampened by the proximity of the woman hiding in his closet. Only when he closed the distance to Jessalyn, standing on his own knees, did he speak. "I'm trying to say," he started slow, nostrils flared and face hard. "I'm trying to tell you. Make me strong." It was too late to stop now. Too late to stop the feelings he had or stop the training. Either way led to ruin. So it was his only alternative. "If I'm not, I'll break, I know it." Orson waved his hand at her and croaked out one last word of explanation. "You." She was the point at which he was soft. His weak point. Finger tight! Be sure to adjust all of the bolts on the ventral-mounting bracket with equal pressure. Hydrospanners are often too powerful for this task, and you don't have the sensitivity that a set of fingers (or other digits capable of grasping) might have. Tighten this down too much, and it'll break. It was the last thing she wanted, to consider separation from him. Her senses picked up on his fears, his need, and her arms reached out to pull him against her breast when Orson drew near. "How?" she whispered, her fair brow furrowing with confusion. The hairs on the back of Jessalyn's neck began to prickle, and she glanced up, seeing a new pair of eyes -- sad, soft, and gray-green -- across the room. She blinked, trying to focus, but the image slipped from her view as if it were water sliding through her fingers. In the now, they drifted instead through Orson's hair, clenching with worry. Pulling away, she sought out his gaze. "Tell me how to help you, and I will." If he could, he would have retraced the steps they had taken as he had begun this type of life. To become a Jedi. Would he have still decided to follow this route, had he known that his own passions could become pain for many? "I don't know what to do different," he confessed, falling back on his knees. "It's worth it. You are. But I see now. That feeling what I do is dangerous." He reached for her hand, missed, and sought it out again. Finally gripping it, he clung like he was a beggar. "Make me strong enough in the Force. So that I'll never hurt you." I need you, he wanted to say. I need the Force too. I'm scared at the power you gave me. I'm scared at what will happen to me when you are threatened. Or if I lose you. Maybe some of it shone in his eyes. -"And if I hurt you, can you honestly say it wouldn't tempt you to the Dark Side?"- The warning hung in the air between them, spoken in Jessalyn's own words not so very long ago in the past. Her fingers tightened in his, clinging just as tight as she gazed at him... into him. "I was wrong, then," she admitted. "I can't make you stronger, Orson. You're the only one who can do that. Trust in the Force." Still, Jessa wasn't happy with her words, and she lifted her free hand to brush back Orson's hair, studying his proud, rugged features, smiling slightly as her fingers brushed the growth of beard on his chin. "Hear this, Orson. I trust you to know to do what is right. The Dark Side will tempt you, just as it does every Jedi. What you have to remember is that... giving in to it will turn you into something other than who you really are. It would be a betrayal of everything you stand for. Everything that our love stands for. I know that you would do the right thing, because you love me." She caught her lower lip between her teeth, fingers curling against Orson's cheek. Orson listened with the amazed wonder of a child, sitting back on his haunches as she spoke. Somehow that time was different, different than the other little sayings and admonitions the Jedi relied on. Different than Luke's approach, to be sure. That instance was timely. It resonated. "I do," he said as he felt something crumble inside him. Something important, some old support, gave way. "I do love you, Jessalyn." He held out his arms straight for her, and let them fall over her shoulders as he collapsed toward her. It was odd, he thought, the details. The texture of the rug. The design on the glass of drink she had brought. Even the gem and the equipment on the floor. It all seemed small. Trifling details, little things that would bend or break against this stuff. After all these years of living, he was getting to the important things. Marina had never been faithful. Not to the promises she had made, or the life they had created together. He would be, Orson told himself. Faithful to stand in the face of temptation. Faithful to love Jessalyn. Though fearful of being able to do both. For now, the closet stayed dark. Her heart pounded in her ears. Slender arms slid around him as Orson enveloped her in his embrace, a sigh leaving her lungs, like the lifting of a heavy weight. Jessalyn shut her eyes, experiencing the physical level and the Force all at once as she slid off the chair and onto her own knees, pressing near to the warmth of his solid body. Their souls were so inextricably linked, it was difficult to tell where she ended and Orson began at times, and as her fingers caressed the nape of his neck, she rubbed her forehead against his cheek and whispered, "I love you, Orson. I never really understood love at all until I found you. But now I do." It was the truth, she reflected without bitterness. The beauty and joy of it was dazzling, and she was content to have traded years of pain and disappointment for the reality of this. Orson steadied her face, rough hands sliding into the silky hair at the base of her neck on either side of Jessalyn's head. He leaned in and kissed for a long moment before pulling back and staring at her. "I won't let you down," he said resolutely. "You're safe now." He seemed content to hold her a long time, free from the passage of time. There was no hurry now. There was growth and maturity to be expected, yes, but he had arrived at the destination. Contentness rolled from his body. The man's little heart struggled with the flow. When he released her, he turned without a word and slid to his rear. The polishing wheel was on again, and Orson boldly lifted his jeweler's dop, grinding off the next slice of the gray-green lightsaber gem. The Force was a steadying, swirling energy, binding them closer together as they each let go of their fears. Perhaps it was the call of hurt, kindred spirits that had drawn them close, but because of their unique power, they were able to discover each other in new and profound ways never even imagined. It was a strange new territory for Jessalyn, who had spent years of her life already as a Jedi, and while aware of the possibilities for intimacy, had never imagined the depth and the change it could cause in her. Her smile lit her face as he stared at her, sharing her joy, and resting a hand on his chest to feel the beat of Orson's heart. "I know," she murmured simply, watching as he turned, and settling back to watch in silence as his hands went back to work with the treasured gem. It was ready. Weak Point, The